


Our Revels

by Tirya56



Series: The Rest is Silence [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirya56/pseuds/Tirya56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you ever really forget what you just can’t remember?  Often the past springs up where one least expects it to.  Often a secret too large for one person cannot be kept.  Sequel and conclusion to ‘No Longer Mourn’ and ‘Thou Art Too Dear.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

The yellow warrior chuckled darkly. “So damn stupid,” he sighed affectionately, nestling his head against his brother’s. “You’re going to leave me and you don’t even slagging know it.”

Sideswipe looked back up at the other Autobot, confusion in his optics. The tight grip he had on the phantom was released immediately. “Leave you? But I don’t even know you.”

Sunstreaker slowly released his own hold and stepped away with careful steps. His head was bowed, expression unreadable, but Sideswipe saw his fists clench and relax. “I know you don’t, Sides. But it’s ok.” The voice was just as careful as the body, low and tight.

“Who are you?” The red Lambo cocked his head to the side, natural curiosity overriding any cautiousness he might have of the stranger.

“No one important. It’s time to wake up now.”

There was a sudden jolt and all the lights shut off, cutting off any response he might make to the strange comment. The mysterious yellow mech was nowhere to be seen. Realizing he couldn’t see because his optics were off, Sideswipe turned them on, waiting for them to stop flickering. The dream slowly faded as he sat up, facing the worried First Aid and Mirage as he stretched his limbs gingerly.

“How do you feel, Sides?” he heard Mirage ask hesitantly. Already the dream was nearly gone and the unease it left with him also began to fade. But his head… his head ached something fierce, leaving him with a groggy, fuzzy feeling. And the strangest sense in the back of his mind.

“Weird.”

OoOoOo

Oh, by Primus he hated thunderstorms! Give him electrical storms on Cybertron any day with all the danger therein. But water… oh water got everywhere and threatened to short out every circuit in his body! Lifting a muddy silver foot, Bluestreak gave it a half-hearted shake, hoping to somehow lessen the appearance of a night spent patrolling in the accursed weather. Behind him he heard the muffled complaining of Tracks as he too trudged through the Ark’s entrance, eager to be done with his duty for the evening. 

“I’ll tell Jazz everything was fine,” the blue warrior informed him before stalking off. Those who didn’t know Tracks might mistake this as a kind offer so Blue could get that much more rest. Bluestreak did, in fact, know him and also knew that Jazz’s office was closer to the wash rack which was where he most wanted to be.

Nonetheless, the silver gunner thanked his night companion and headed in the direction of his quarters. He’d clean up later, what he most wanted now was a few megacycles of recharge before he had to be up and functioning again. Right now he was just too tired to wait for Tracks to be done with his hour long washing ritual. After all, he’d been much dirtier than this before without any major catastrophe.

As he walked, Bluestreak vaguely recalled his very first reaction to the large amounts of rain this planet offered. It hadn’t been long after he woke up from his millennia-long slumber and the Witwickys were playing tour-guides to the eager and curious Autobots. Bluestreak had been traveling with Spike, Sparkplug, Jazz, Hound, Cliffjumper, Smokescreen, and a few others through some of the back roads of the nearby suburbs when it started to rain. Lightly at first, then continuing on until it was a full-fledged heat storm with lightning, thunder, and all that that entailed.

He felt his face warm slightly as he remembered how frightened he’d been of it at first. He’d never seen water before other than recent mere glimpses of the nearby ocean and lakes. They didn’t have water on Cybertron, nor on many of the planets he’d been to before his assignment to the Ark. Oh he’d known about it, obviously, but only as one might know about a black hole or a nebula or some strange foreign creature. He knew it existed, and some about it, but not much more besides. 

The others had laughed, of course, at his sudden fear of the strange substance coating him. Some more kindly than others. After all, they had come in contact with it before, perhaps on other planets. He, too, had laughed when he understood the situation. Now and then someone brought it up for a cheap laugh at his expense, and usually he laughed too. But that didn’t mean he liked it much more than he first did. Especially when he had to pull night patrol duty in it.

Bluestreak paused outside the lounge, hearing the laughter from within. Deciding to check it out rather than continue on to his quarters, he had to smile softly at what he saw, his unpleasant experience from that night fading from his mind. The lounge always had something going on at all hours. Even if he didn’t partake much in the activities, Blue still enjoyed watching them and their participants. He loved this lounge so much more than the one at Autobot City which often felt cold and rigid and uncomfortable. But here… so many memories were here with so many people in them. This one had life, warmth. 

He secretly hoped the construction at the City took a bit longer if only to enjoy what had been his home for so long. Decepticons had tried to take on Autobot City again a week ago, much in the same fashion as before. Yet this time the Autobots were ready for the assault and determined to make their aggressors pay for every fallen friend of the past. This time no more lives had been taken, but the damage inflicted on the City had been enough to move much of the population to the Ark, which acted as the Autobots’ secondary base of operations. Whatever sad memories might have come from moving back into a place where so many dead once lived, the majority of the unit was quite willing to return, the young gunner included. Yes the memories did hurt, but in a way, coming back allowed those most hurt to heal.

Currently, Sideswipe was sitting in the middle of a group of listeners, arms flailing wildly, as he reenacted some of his more dangerous stunts. His optics were bright and energized as he told the tale. One couldn’t help but listen to him and be just as enthralled.

“…So then Galvatron just looks at me, right? And then wham! I slam my left piledriver right into the ledge and he gets completely buried under 5 tons of rock!” He slammed an ebony hand into the other to signify the mech-made avalanche, face animated with excitement.

The others around him laughed, picturing the scene in their minds. Bluestreak stood at the doorway, smile growing ever so slightly. It was good to have the old Sideswipe back among the living. It was a breath of fresh air in what was a terrible, rank war. Hearing his gleeful hollers as a prank was sprung on an unsuspecting bot made it hurt less to wake up the next morning. It made one less life to mourn over.

If only the price to hear that laughter again didn’t have to come at such a price.

The smile faded as soon as it came, and Bluestreak turned away from the lounge where Sideswipe went on in his colorful story complete with sound effects and arm motions. The sound of laughter faded into the background as he walked further and further away. At the last moment, he turned left rather than straight on to his quarters. His recharge berth could wait a few more cycles.

The medical wing was empty save for First Aid cleaning up after a procedure. The bot who had undergone said procedure, Cliffjumper, lay in a deep recharge in the corner. “Hey,” Bluestreak greeted softly, giving the somber CMO the option of pretending not to hear.

However, the young medic did look up, rag soaked in mech fluid slipping through his fingers to the operating table. First Aid straightened up to meet his visitor, a soft happy light in his optics at his having one at all. “Bluestreak,” he nodded, speaking just as softly. “How are you? Feeling alright?”

“Fine. How are you?” If First Aid were human, one might say he had lost weight, or gotten pale. His features were drawn and tight, and he moved stiffly as though constantly sore. Anyone with optics could see he wasn’t well, yet no one tried to remedy that. In fact, the less one had to see him the better in most opinions. He already had his brothers, they always justified it in their minds. He doesn’t need my company and I certainly don’t want his.

Ever since he had altered Sideswipe’s memories in order to save his life, First Aid had become a bit of the Autobot black sheep. Others avoided him, going so far as to letting Swoop and Perceptor care for them unless absolutely necessary. They were afraid that he might do the same to them and erase or alter their minds. Meddle in things he had no business meddling in. The loss in faith hurt First Aid badly, yet he put up with it because there was no other option. He couldn’t very well order them to trust him again.

“Me? Oh, don’t you worry about me, Blue. Everything’s fine.”

Everything was not fine. But Bluestreak wouldn’t bring that up if he didn’t have to. The passive medic needed no more reminder that but for his brothers he was alone.

“So what brings you around here?” First Aid asked curiously. “Aren’t you off duty now?”

“Just got back from patrol duty, yeah. It was raining the whole time and there was mud everywhere and you know Tracks, he couldn’t stop complaining the whole time about how dirty he was getting and when we got back…” he shut his mouth quickly, looking sheepish. There he went, babbling on again just because he was nervous. And he’d thought he’d gotten passed that years ago.

If First Aid noticed the other’s embarrassment, he didn’t comment on it. Just chuckled indulgently and resumed wiping down the table. “That’s Tracks alright,” he nodded. “I expect he’ll be by soon when he’s done washing. He’ll want Swoop to look him over for external damage.”

Have Swoop look him over. Not First Aid. Never First Aid. Not even for a simple check-up. And Tracks had a distinct dislike of the Dinobots, finding them beneath his level of intelligence and grace. Allowing one of them to work on his precious body was out of the question But ever since 4 months ago he’d somehow found it in himself to allow the young Dinobot near…

“Well,” he forced himself to brighten up, yet the dull grey-blue sheen in his optics neither brightened nor faded. “I’d hate to see Grapple’s face when he finds all the mud you two tracked in.”

Blustreak nodded. This was going nowhere. Simple small talk for two mechs who really had nothing to say to each other. But the young gunner felt bad about not visiting now and then even though he knew no one else would do so. He was in the minority in that he forgave the CMO for doing what he did. The medic needed a friend, and for all his many shortcomings, Bluestreak knew he was capable of being that at least. And it was this urge to do just that that gave him the courage to speak.

“First Aid,” he started, coming further into the room. Making sure out of the corner of his optic that Cliffjumper truly was asleep, he took a deep calming breath to ease his tense nerves. “I understand.”

“How could you understand?” the CMO asked in a sudden low tone, not even pretending to be ignorant of what he was speaking of. There was a hint of anger in his voice that Bluestreak dared to empathize with him. A tired resentment, one that he would not take further. He had no more energy to destroy a friendship he could not afford to lose. Even such a fledgling friendship as this one.

Bluestreak’s words startled him from this dull anger. “Did you know that Ratchet blocked my memories when the Autobots rescued me from my city back on Cybertron?”

“He did?” First Aid asked in surprise, the unhealthy look in his optics giving way to slightly more blue as he became more alert. No, he had never known.

“Yeah,” Bluestreak’s optics darkened to a navy blue as he remembered all those years back. Back when he had been so young in both body and spirit. So long ago it seemed. “When they found me, I was the only survivor of the whole city, and even then I was half dead. The second I woke up in the med bay, I totally lost it. Nearly tore the room apart. All those images… I just couldn’t handle all that happened. I don’t remember much of what happened, but somehow Ratchet managed to knock me back out.” He halfway suspected the late CMO of using that killer arm of his to bring the youth down.

“He wiped your memory chip?” Had he done such a terrible sin after all? Had his mentor been just as daring, just as willing to save a life that needed saving? After all, no one could contest that Bluestreak was so much of the life that made up the Earth unit. Would one among them curse Ratchet for doing what he did to save Bluestreak?

“Not entirely and not forever,” Bluestreak shook his head, making First Aid wilt again slightly. So there had been a difference. The gunner continued his story, lost in his memories.

“But without any authorization from the higher ups, he blocked off the destruction of the city. If he didn’t, my mind would have just snapped from the strain, that’s what he said anyway. There wasn’t enough time to go through the hoops needed for permission. He wanted to get me back to working capacity fast because if I wasn’t given something to do, I got a little stir-crazy.” He smiled softly at that, remembering how he had driven poor Ratchet up the wall while he was a patient. “Eventually, after I was enlisted for a while, he unblocked some memories little by little rather than all together. He and Prowl helped me get through the really bad ones. I… I never really thanked them for it.” They were so patient with him; he owed them everything.

“He gave them back? Why? Wasn’t there the possibility that you would have reacted badly?” First Aid asked, medical interest piqued just as much as his natural curiosity. A bit more sapphire made its way into his gentle gaze and his shoulders no longer slouched so much.

“Well yeah, but he thought I was ready for it. I think he even left some permanently blocked.” He touched his head softly right over the deeply imbedded memory chip. “There are some things that don’t quite match up right.”

“I… I could unblock them if you like,” the medic offered softly, waiting for a harsh and fearful refusal like all the others. He half-way didn’t blame Bluestreak if he did refuse. Sometimes he felt just as incapable as the others accused him. What if he did something by accident and everyone thought it was on purpose? Not even Rodimus, who had kept the worst of the would-be aggressors away, would let First Aid keep his position after that.

“Thanks, but I think I prefer them blocked. I’d rather not deal with them if they’re so bad he left them alone. I’m happy with my life now and remembering the past won’t help me anymore.” He smiled reassuringly at the slightly younger mech. “Hound is the only other one who knows about all this, but I thought you might like to know. I do understand, First Aid. Sideswipe wasn’t getting any better, just like I wasn’t. You did what you had to do, and… and I think Sunstreaker would be glad you did it.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” the Protectobot said, looking so much better than before. He had never expected Bluestreak to reveal something like that and he swore to keep that confidence in good faith. “If only the others thought like you do.”

“Maybe someday they will,” the young gunner suggested optimistically. “They need to get more used to him, it’s all still new.”

“He’s not the same Sideswipe they remember,” First Aid said softly, going to sort his toolbox more out of needing something to do rather than any actual mess. “They think I did something else to him too.”

“Did you?” the gunner asked quietly, knowing the answer.

“No, no of course not!” the young medic insisted vehemently. “I just erased Sunstreaker so he’d forget his pain. That’s all. I did it to save his life, Bluestreak. That’s all I wanted out of this.” How many times had he given the same argument? A hundred times? A thousand? And how many times had he been declared a heartless mad scientist who’s only concern was body count rather than his patients’ health.

“Then they’ll see that. This can’t go on forever.” Bluestreak smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. The Protectobot looked ready to snap at the pressure he was constantly put under. Even First Aid’s brothers had become estranged from their most fragile member, no more approving of what he did than the others were. But if not for them, who loved and protected him anyway, the young CMO might have snapped already. Yet not even four brothers could take all the pain away and it showed.

“Thank you, Bluestreak,” First Aid said, genuinely feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. It was good to know that not all of them hated him. Even after everything life had thrown in the silver gunner’s face, he was still such a sweet kid. Always wanting to help others before himself. The medic was glad that the war hadn’t ruined this one too. Was glad that Ratchet had also done what was needed in order to save a life.

“You’re welcome.” The gunner yawned involuntarily. It seemed his berth really couldn’t wait that much longer.

“Go on and get some rest. I imagine you’ll be back to saving the universe soon enough. Medic’s orders,” the CMO added with a slight smile. Almost a real one this time too. Close enough.

“Yessir,” Bluestreak mumbled out, yawning again. “Goodnight, First Aid.”

“Goodnight, Blue.”

OoOoOo

“Night, guys!” Sideswipe called as he exited the doorway. An assortment of farewells came back from the lounge. As he turned to the soldiers’ quarters where no others walked, the easy grin on his face melted to a somber thin mouth. His optics darkened to match the red warrior’s sour mood and his broad shoulders lowered slightly. The enthralling storyteller of only a few cycles past was transformed completely.

Up until tonight he’d thought he was just being paranoid. That it was all in his muddled head. Yet now he was sure something was up. Something that he should know and didn’t. He could see it in the way they treated him; how they sometimes stopped mid-sentence or danced around a particular issue. And the moment he thought he finally had it pegged, something came in to throw it all in disarray. Primus, he must have gone through a thousand different theories only to have each one shot down from one reason or another.

A serious battle a few months ago had left his processor a bit funny. He remembered that he had been angry for a long time before then, but after that battle where he must have hit his head, he fell all that hate dissolve away until there was none left. Perhaps that was why the others were acting so odd. They still needed to get used to the old Sideswipe again. It made sense; after all, he had been rather… scary back then. Some of the things he had said and done were enough to give even the perpetrator a shiver. He supposed a huge event like the battle for Autobot City and then against Unicron would twist a mech like that. Twist them until they were no longer themselves. But then why did his anger and grief begin over a month after those events…?

Bah, it just hurt his head to think of all those silly details! Who cared what he used to be like, what mattered now was that he was back to normal. Everything was fine now. That bump to the head was a blessing in disguise and he shouldn’t question it.

Sideswipe entered his quarters at last, reveling in its privacy. Everywhere else on base there was always someone else. Being by himself was a rare but cherished luxury. Yet this room always seemed so… big. So lonely at times. There was no reason to feel this, yet he did all the same. It was probably just the fact that he was so used to being around others that it was strange to be by himself.

The hell with it, he was just tired, that’s all. He always got like this when he had worked a long shift. Sitting back down on his berth he summoned a datapad from subspace and studied it. It was his shopping list for the next time he was on leave. The Ark’s resident prankster needed his supplies after all. It just wasn’t the same without Prowl or Ratchet to annoy, but it kept morale up as well as him entertained.

The next one would be good too; he’d make sure of it. One to shadow all the ones before. All he really needed was a way to raid the old collection of holovids kept locked away for posterity. Not an impossible task, barely even a difficult one. But it required perfect timing, stealth, brains, and a quick mouth if all failed.

The red warrior lay back on his berth still staring at the list. A soft curse left his lips and he sat up wincing. Oh slag, he always did that! For as long as he could remember, Sideswipe constantly forgot to remove his shoulder cannon before laying down. The myriad of scuff-marks and scratches on the wall was a testament to this faulty memory.

Removing the offending weapon so he could relax properly, Sideswipe lay on his back, holding the datapad up in outstretched hands.

It was then he looked up past the datapad and felt his spark constrict. The datapad fell to the ground as he stood up sharply.

There, on the wall about 15 feet above his berth, were the same scratches and dents that he left when his cannon hit it.


	2. Two

There, on the wall about 15 feet above his berth, were the same scratches and dents that he left when his cannon hit it.

Sideswipe stared at the scratches, not able to believe what he was seeing. It was impossible; how could he have made those dents all the way up there? Standing, the red warrior was clearly able to inspect the alien marks, and he knew without a doubt they were the same.

But wait… he didn’t remember there even being dents next to his berth after he hit his head.

The red Lambo raced to his desk drawers, feeling something inside him urge him on. A larger, more logical part just told him to leave it be, but he could not rest until he knew for sure. It was a natural thing for him to do, once he was stuck on a problem or concept, he was unable to let it go until he was satisfied with it.

Finally he found what he was looking for. To celebrate a quick recovery for Jazz who had gotten a nasty wound not long after Sideswipe nearly got blown in half by Scourge, they’d held a party in the Lambo’s quarters as it was one of the largest of the soldiers’ quarters.

There was a picture taken of he, Jazz, and Bluestreak on his berth. Refocusing his internal power so that his optical sensors became more sensitive, Sideswipe was able to take a closer look. Sure enough, there were few if any scuffmarks where there should be hundreds, and a huge amount just about their heads. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before?

“What in the Matrix…” It was as though he’d been floating in mid-air for the first few years of his stationing here.

There was one more thing he needed to see to confirm his theory.

And there they were.

Little holes on the corners of his berth. Not found among normal recharge berths, but a standard part of any bunk set. From the looks of them, the holes were home-made and done a long time ago. He sat up straighter on his berth, staring at the holes with a startling realization.

He hadn’t been sleeping on mid-air to create those scuff-marks.

Sideswipe had been on top of a bunk bed for the majority of his assignment.

Fueled by this discovery, he continued scouring his room, eager to find any clue to explain this phenomena that he couldn’t remember happening.

OoOoOo

The sharp pounding at the door would not go away no matter how hard Mirage tried to ignore it. Rolling over with an annoyed groan, he stumbled to the door. He was off for another three megacycles at least and by the Pit whoever was trying to break his door down had better have a slagging good reason for waking him up.

No sooner had he unlocked the door than a large mass of black and red burst its way in. Sideswipe looked as disheveled as he’d ever seen him.

“Sides, what’s wrong?” the spy asked growing concerned. Since his brother was erased, Sideswipe seemed to strengthen his other friendships, Mirage among them. If something was wrong, the young officer would be the first to hear it.

“Mirage,” Sideswipe finally stopped and turned to look at him. His optics were bright with confusion and pain. “I think I’m going crazy. I can’t…”

“What is it?” he braced himself as he always did for the explosion that was long due. It was a secret that should never have been kept, and it would unravel one day. Was this that day?

“Who’s Sunstreaker?”

OoOoOo

Ah, at last the entire room was spotless. First Aid surveyed the now pristine med-bay with satisfaction. For at least a few cycles, it could give the illusion of peace and quiet. Primus knew that by the time tomorrow had come and gone, there would be new injured on those empty tables. New messes to clean up. New gore to haunt him.

“First Aid?”

But until then, he could pretend that he was just a normal resident medic instead of a military unit’s Chief Medical Officer.

He turned around to see his brother and immediate superior walk in through the door. Hotspot smiled easily, a relaxed flow in his gait. The few days of leave had done him a world of good, First Aid could see. He was glad to have recommended the little vacation to Rodimus basing it on a medic’s worry for a top commander. “Hey, First Aid,” the Protectobot commander greeted.

“Hotspot,” the medic smiled, pleased that such an expression could come so easily this time. He would have to do something nice for Bluestreak in the near future.

“Was on my way back from the lounge and I thought I’d come see if you weren’t too busy to walk to quarters with me.”

“Actually I was just finishing up,” he admitted. “Just let me lock up my office first and I’ll be right with you.”

Cliffjumper was still in deep recharge when he checked on him, thus ensuring at least one quiet night. First Aid shut off the lights in his office, and locked the door. Setting the lights in the main med-bay to dim, he rejoined his waiting brother by the exit.

“How was everything today?” Hotspot asked lightly as they walked together. Normally he wouldn’t ask since First Aid’s job had become significantly more difficult as of late. Between worsening battles and the intense distrust of others, the Protectobot commander was surprised his brother was holding up so well. But today there appeared to be less weight upon the medic’s shoulders and there was a light bounce in his step. Something good must have happened to bring it about.

“Fine,” First Aid replied. “Cliffjumper should be out by tomorrow. There wasn’t anything major today so I got to catch up on my inventory.”

“Good. Prime thinks that we might have to head back down to southern California.”

“Again?” First Aid looked incredulous. “That’ll be the third time this month, won’t it?”

“I know,” his brother and superior nodded, face solemn. “They’ve been having real problems with the earthquakes lately. It’s good we have the time to go down and help with the relief efforts.”

The CMO nodded. “It’ll feel nice helping people rebuild for a change. It’s what we were made for, but lately…”

Hotspot knew what he meant. The Protectobots were supposed to protect life, not end it. They were never supposed to be warriors, only defenders. Yet time and time again, one or more of the brothers would find themselves charging into combat right alongside the real soldiers. And ever since First Aid had chosen to become an outcast of the unit, there had seemed to be less need for him to leave the med-bay. Rodimus let him stay as the CMO and everything that that duty entailed. He even forbade anyone to try to reverse the procedure’s effects on Sideswipe. But for now at least, the Prime chose to keep a close optic on First Aid.

Defensor was missed in the regular ranks, but not many claimed that he was missed that much.

As hard as it was on First Aid during the aftermath of his operation on Sideswipe, it was sometimes even harder on his four brothers. On Hotspot especially. For the longest time he was always berated savagely by the troops. Why couldn’t he keep a closer watch on his own brother? How could he allow such a thing? How could he possibly defend such a being? Could he prevent the same from happening to them? Were the other Protectobots just as unstable? What had First Aid really done to Sideswipe?

The Protectobot Commander loved his brother. Nothing First Aid could do or say would ever change that. True they may be on opposite sides on certain things. Hotspot may even hate what his brother had done. But he could never stop loving him; it was just the way it worked. As such, he would do nothing less than accept him with open arms. Groove, Streetwise, and Blades had done the same, protecting their weakest from the others’ attacks unconditionally.

Not to say that things hadn’t been strained within the Protectobot ranks for a good long time. As much as the four loved First Aid, they were frightened of what he had done. Never had the quiet pacifist even mentioned something like this in passing. What had possessed him to do something that was so damaging? For they believed that it was indeed damaging. No good could come from Sideswipe forgetting his twin. The five of them were siblings; they understood and sympathized with the red warrior’s pain. But they would all rather be deactivated than have it so their family never existed in their minds.

What if, someday, one of the Protectobots died? Would First Aid do the same procedure to them? Would they even have a choice?

Hotspot pushed these unpleasant matters away from his exhausted processor. He was starting to sound like some of the paranoid bots on base who were convinced that First Aid was brainwashing his own zombie army. Anyone who cared to notice could see just what this had cost the medic who had nothing but the best of intentions. No, this was one operation his brother would be staying far far away from for a good few millennia.

“Well well, look who it is,” Blades greeted from his seat on the couch. The Protectobots each had their own quarters, but since Hotspot was the group’s leader and had the largest room, they had turned half of it into a sort of private lounge. Not that Hotspot had much of a say in the matter, of course. On-duty he was their commanding officer. Off-duty he was just another brother. It was a role he both cherished and resented as it meant that if all the others wanted to redecorate half his living space, he would have to bow to their wishes.

He hadn’t complained much in their defense. They may have separate quarters, but they still enjoyed their time together. Especially since they so rarely saw each other these days. The Lambo twins had been able to share quarters, but it would be impossible for the five brothers to do the same.

“If it isn’t Dr. Jekyll himself emerging from his secret lab,” Streetwise picked up where the flyer had left off. Another perk of being First Aid’s brother was that one could tease him about possible sensitive subjects and expect only a glare in retaliation.

“Naturally,” First Aid took the harmless jibe in stride and nodded his head to the bemused Hotspot. “And my partner in crime, Mr. Hyde.” Hotspot grinned and patted his brother on the shoulder before heading to his desk in the hopes of getting some work done over the din of King of Queens and four brothers.

Groove smiled happily. “Had a good day today, man?” he asked.

“As well as could be expected,” the CMO walked over to sit on the couch next to Blades. “Cliffjumper was the only one to come in for actual repairs and it took me half a megacycle at the most.”

“Uh-oh,” Blades shook his head. “Is he gonna wake up tomorrow clucking like a chicken?”

“Blades…” Hotspot gave a warning glare to his most rambunctious Protectobot. Blades never really did learn the difference between gentle teasing and hitting a bit below the belt.

However First Aid waved off the comment. “I was going to give him your vocal waves, but I think I’ve heard enough whining around the base without adding another one of you.”

Streetwise and Groove chuckled at Blades’ indignant, open mouthed expression. Even Hotspot hid a grin behind his datapad. Whatever had happened to put First Aid into such a good mood, he hoped it kept up. He’d missed having his gentle and joyful brother and wanted him back.

First Aid’s optics glittered with mirth when Blades was unable to come up with a proper retort. Yes, he may still be one of the most infamous Autobots come tomorrow, but here nothing could touch him. Not the others’ scorn and not the mistakes of the past.

OoOoOo

 

Mirage was sure for a moment that his spark stopped pulsating altogether. Of all the questions and accusations and threats he expected, never did he imagine this simple honest one. Sideswipe still had no idea what he’d lost, but this was dancing dangerously close to the point of no return.

“A soldier who died a while back,” he said in as light a tone as he could manage. “Why?”

“Why didn’t anyone slagging tell me I slept on a bunk? I mean, I shared a room with this guy. Didn’t anyone think it was weird that I just suddenly forgot this guy?” He broke his gaze with Mirage and walked in a bit of a circle, his usual pacing track when he was nervous or upset. “Dammit! Why can’t I remember? It’s this slagging head injury!”

Somewhere along the way, Sideswipe had invented a head injury to excuse his faulty memory concerning certain events. No one corrected him as it made their jobs that much easier. Occasionally he would get frustrated, but for the most part he just went with the flow as he did all things.

“Can you tell me about him?” Sideswipe asked. “Maybe you can job my memory or something. I had to be buddies with this guy, right?” He looked at his friend hopefully.

Now that was the million credit question, wasn’t it?

“There isn’t much to tell,” Mirage replied, trying to recover from his shell-shock. “He was as vain as Tracks, but much crankier. A complete sociopath with enough arsenal to back up anything he said. There weren’t many of us who liked him.”

Sideswipe snorted. “And I roomed with this guy?”

“Yes, well, you were one of the ones he didn’t mind having around.”

“Sounds like a real asshole,” he shook his head.

“To put it crudely, yes he was.” Mirage paused. “Are you sure you don’t remember him at all?”

“Would I be asking if I did?” the warrior sighed. “I’m gonna go talk to First Aid about this damn head thing. I’m sick of being screwed up.” He wasn’t sure why few of the others ever went to the kind Protectobot for help and he didn’t care to listen to the rumors. First Aid never let him down before.

The last thing the poor medic needed was Sideswipe asking uncomfortable questions. Mirage had seen what one supposed act of mercy had cost First Aid. And he knew what sort of cost Sideswipe would further exact if he ever knew the truth. Right now, the spy doubted First Aid had the willpower to lie about the procedure. The act was weighing heavily upon him, more so now than ever.

“Why is this so important to you?” Mirage asked.

“Why?” Sideswipe stared at him like he had a few bolts loose. “Cause I’m fragging sick of not remembering stuff, that’s why.”

“But what would remembering Sunstreaker do for you?” Besides destroy you. “He’s dead. It won’t bring him back to remember exactly how he’d slag you if you scratched his paint job.”

Considering this, Sideswipe looked sad and unsure of himself. He used to never be like this, even after his twin had died. “Yeah I know, but Primus… the poor slagger. No one ever talks about him; it’s like he never existed. At least people still talk about Prowl and Ratchet and the others. Even an asshole like Sunny deserves to be remembered.”

Sideswipe probably had no idea just how surreal this conversation was getting.

“Maybe it’s for the best. By the way, if you can’t remember him, how did you…”

“After I figured out that I had a roomie, I went into the archives to see who used to sleep where.”

Ah of course; they could erase Sideswipe’s memory and even all physical evidence of Sunstreaker’s existence, but the one thing no one could tamper with was official records. It was only sheer providence that more hadn’t been revealed during Sideswipe’s little file sweep.

“Y’know, maybe you’re right,” Sideswipe said at last. “After everything that’s been going on, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know. It just seems wrong to let somebody be forgotten like that.”

A sick feeling settled itself in Mirage’s core. It was just as he told First Aid the day the deed was done. This wasn’t any Sideswipe they knew; this one was unsure of himself and confused and weaker than he’d ever been. Yet one thing endured and it was this thing that scared him the most. Perhaps a slip, perhaps not. But whether or not Sideswipe meant to refer to his brother as ‘Sunny,’ the fact remained that he said it all the same.

“Do what you want, Sides,” he said, knowing he had won. “It’s just that you’ve always accepted your head injury and its problems before.”

“Yeah, well, I never forgot a whole person before. Or at least… I didn’t think I did.” Even though he still argued against leaving it be, Mirage could see that he had caved for the time being. It was what the Intelligence officer had wanted, yet he felt no satisfaction in it. He hated that Sideswipe gave in to him so easily. He hated how unsure of himself the warrior was. He hated this new Sideswipe who was no more the real one than the twisted angry soul First Aid thought he’d saved.

“Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow,” the Lambo said. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime,” Mirage managed to offer a small smile as his friend departed.

For a moment he debated going to First Aid to warn him about Sideswipe. If he knew about Sunstreaker, it would be all too easy for the final piece of the puzzle to fall in. This Sides may not be their Sides, but if he felt slighted, he would show no mercy nor forgiveness. First Aid had to be ready for that eventuality.

For now though, Sideswipe seemed content to let it go, and hopefully would be too busy with the war and pranks to look into it any further. For him the mystery was solved. It would be wrong of the spy to worry the young medic further when there was no immediate need. The poor CMO had enough to deal with without this too.

OoOoOo

It wasn’t easy to break into the old holovid cases. While most of them were just home-made videos done by the troops for fun, many of them contained possible delicate material. They couldn’t make it easy for these things to be stolen by the Decepticons. He also didn’t exactly have the proper clearance for snooping around in old archives without permission.

Yet break in he did. After all, he was Sideswipe.

Ignoring any of the official archives, the red Lambo headed straight for the home-spun movies. If there was anything incriminating anywhere, it would be here.

Originally the plan was for him to find some embarrassing moments of the guys around the base and playing it via general feed on all the monitors. Yet after his conversation with Mirage, he realized the importance of remembering those long gone. Therefore, he changed his plan slightly. Now all he was after were the lost memories of the dead.

Surely there had to be some tapes of Ratchet or Wheeljack or Prowl even doing something embarrassing or funny. Some act worthy of blackmail that would allow those who missed them still to laugh as they remembered t hose who were gone.

Perhaps there might even be a tape of this Sunstreaker character. Anything that might jog his memory.

He sifted through the old tapes, amazed that so many had survived all that had happened to them by both war and time. At the bottom of the pile was a tape made by him a few days before the initial launch of the Ark. This thing was millions of years old…

Jackpot. If there was anything incriminating, it would be on this tape as he would have been at every farewell party there was.

Grabbing that one as well as a few others, Sideswipe left the room and headed to his quarters for a little late-night movie madness.

OoOoOo

He yawned loudly as he set the movie aside. Most of the tapes had some good things on them, and it felt good to see them again and remember. It seemed he’d forgotten more than he thought.

Now and then, a tape would show a glimpse of a tall handsome warrior, golden and proud. While the brief glimpses he got backed up Mirage’s story of Sunstreaker being vain, the warrior was actually rather camera-shy. Or, at least, whenever the camera-mech tried to corner him, Sunstreaker would sneer and leave.

Once Sideswipe was sure that the yellow Lamborghini really was this mythical Sunstreaker, he started looking for him more and more as the tapes went on. He truly did appear to be the most unpleasant creature on the base. Yet he seemed to remind Sideswipe of something. Not like his fragged up head was giving back lost memories. But of something else. His manners and even his appearance seemed like he had seen them somewhere else.

He couldn’t help but smile as Hound, the current filmer, focused in on Sunstreaker’s sour face. What must it look like when he smiled?

“Hey, Sunny!” the little tracker greeted happily.

The yellow warrior turned from where he’d been walking. Seeing the camera his scowl only deepened. “Frag off,” he likewise greeted.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Hound laughed, showing no fear. “Give us a smile!”

“I think not.” He turned and started to walk away. “Go bother someone else.”

“Well where’s your better half?”

“Sideswipe? Who knows, he’s not my responsibility.”

Better half? Were they really such good friends? First Aid would definitely be getting a visit from him later. There had to be something the medic could do for him.

The tape ended soon after Sunstreaker made good his escape.

Sideswipe reached for the last tape left. His own from before the launch. It happened such a long time ago that he wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember making it.

As it began, he began instantly glad that he’d grabbed. The senior cadre had thrown a huge party for the crew the night before, and nearly everyone had attended. Jazz and Prowl were chatting, each with a mug of energon. Sideswipe realized suddenly that it had never occurred to him just how much more often Prowl smiled back then.

Everyone, in fact, seemed so relaxed. So happy and optimistic about their mission and the war in general. So many smiling faces that had no idea what awaited them.

Bluestreak was seated on a couch near Sideswipe who was filming the scene. From the looks of the gunner, who was only a little bit younger than him, it couldn’t have been long since his enlistment. Few if any knew little Blue’s story, and certainly not Sideswipe. But it was probably something big. All he knew was that one day during the last half of his combat training, a little gunner showed up from nowhere, scared and jittery. His plating looked brand new and there had been rumors that his entire body had just been reconstructed from scratch. The gunner looked nervous to be around so many strangers, but nonetheless glad for the company.

Nearly everyone there Sideswipe knew, though he certainly didn’t at the time.

The camera switched on to a different scene, showing none other than Sunstreaker in front of the camera. Had they met at the party?

With a few cubes of energon clearly flowing in his system, there was very little unpleasantness to be found in the yellow bot. In fact he looked rather… calm.

“What a party, eh Sunny?” his own voice came from behind the camera.

Sunstreaker shrugged and relaxed against a recharge berth in a strange room.

“Bunch of civis,” the yellow bot snorted. “No wonder they offered us so much.”

“Ah, there’s my Sunny,” chuckled Sideswipe. “Always thinking with his spark of gold.”

The camera swooped throughout the room and Sideswipe suddenly recognized it as his own back on Cybertron. But it seemed… different somehow. “So this is goodbye, home sweet home,” the Sideswipe on camera lamented. “See you in half a million. Or whenever we find our energon and win the war.”

“Whichever comes first,” finished Sunstreaker, looking too comfortable in this place to be a newly-met friend.

“What do you think you’ll miss the most, Sunny?” Sideswipe asked, returning the camera’s focus to his friend. “About Cybertron I mean.”

“You mean like all the cute femmes?” Sunstreaker smirked roguishly.

“Nah, cute femmes come and go. Isn’t there anything else you’ll miss about home?”

“Are you kidding, Sides? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for an assignment like this?”

“Our whole lives, I know. But there has to be something. A favorite bar? The way the suns dip over the horizon at night? The fragging traffic at mid-day? Anything?”

Sunstreaker fixed the camera, him, with a serious and sober look. “All that’s just slag. Nothing I’ll miss that I can’t take with me.”

“Aw that’s sweet, bro,” Sideswipe teased, breaking any seriousness in the situation.

Bro?

Sunstreaker snorted again. “You think I meant you? Hell no, I’m talking about that stash of paint I have tucked away. Can’t go saving the universe looking like some junk heap.”

“Once again, my dear Sunstreaker, your kind thoughtful soul leaves me astounded. As golden on the inside as the outside? Whatever did Pinch save for me?”

Pinch… Triggerpinch. Oh yes, his Creator. How could he have forgotten that rusted old slagger?

“Well he let you get sparked with me, didn’t he? That’s honor enough.”

The Sideswipe holding the camera laughed in good humor and the screen went black.

OoOoOo

“Hey, Magnus,” Jazz went up to the Autobot Vice Commander.

“Good morning, Jazz,” Ultra Magnus greeted from his seat at a monitor. He saw the puzzled expression on the Special Ops officer’s face and frowned. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s Sideswipe.”

Mirage perked up slightly from his position just a few feet away, yet he made no other indication that he’d heard.

“He didn’t show up for duty this morning so I thought he just slept in. When I went to wake th’ sleepyhead up, his door was locked and I can’t override his lock. An’… he won’t answer his comm.”


	3. Three

“Sideswipe?”

No answer.

“Sideswipe, it’s me, Mirage.”

Nothing.

“Please open up.”

“Go away!” His voice was hoarse, yet the force behind it very real.

“I can’t do that.” The spy paused outside for a moment, audios pressed against the door hoping to hear some movement. “I’m worried about you, Sides.”

“Why the slag would you be worried about me?”

Primus, he sounded just like Sunstreaker when he got like this.

“Because I’m your friend. Now open this door.”

“Friend?”

The sound of footsteps.

“You’re my fucking friend?”

The door opened.

Sideswipe glared down at the much smaller mech as though he’d just thrown the most foul curse at him. Mirage stepped back, sensing the danger the red Lambo posed.

“Like Sunstreaker was my friend?”

“Sunstreaker?” Mirage tried his hardest to keep a straight face, but he knew it was pointless. Sideswipe knew. Somehow, he knew.

Taking the young officer’s light comment as a blatant mockery of his ignorance, Sideswipe reacted violently. He swung out, grabbing Mirage by his delicate throat and slamming him into the old coppery golden wall, adding to the many dents that adorned it. His glittering frosty optics stared deep into his friend’s, daring him to mock him further.

Drawing himself up, the spy forced himself to stare right back and not lower his gaze. Whatever he’d done, he’d stand by it. He might not be the nobleman he used to be, but by Primus he was no coward. He still had his dignity.

“You lied to me!” Sideswipe hissed. “I came to you for help and you fragging lied to me! You knew he was my brother and you didn’t tell me. What the slag is wrong with you? !”

“Sideswipe…” Mirage cut in softly. “Let’s have this discussion somewhere more private rather than the corridors.”

Optics narrowed into dangerous slits, the red warrior stepped to the side so Mirage could enter the darkened room. The only light came from the t.v. and two sets of optical sensors.

Tapes, hundreds upon hundreds of them, were strewn around the floor as though a mini-bomb had exploded. A single datapad lay on top of the TV that played only static now.

“That’s the big secret then, isn’t it?” Sideswipe growled once the door was shut. “Why the others get all nervous around me sometimes and stop talking.”

He started pacing now, all worked up.

“Why keep it from me!” he shouted, turning on Mirage again. “He was my goddamn twin brother, Mirage!”

“Sides, please…” he tried to calm the warrior down, hands spread out peacefully.

“No! No ‘please’!” The Lamborghini grabbed the remote from his couch and pressed ‘play.’ Immediately Sunstreaker’s image filled the television screen. Sideswipe’s grinning face soon appeared as well. It looked like a security camera catching the twins setting up a prank.

“Look,” the real Sideswipe said in a much softer voice, the fight in him momentarily gone. “I’ve never seen him before, and I’ve never heard his voice. But that tape…”

Mirage kept his optics on the screen rather than see his friend’s expression. He could hear the twins arguing quietly on some sort of aspect of the prank. See the playful shove Sunstreaker sent his brother.

“How does someone just forget their twin?” Sideswipe whispered, still holding the remote.

Mirage secretly doubted he ever really had. First Aid could only take away so much.

Now he understood all the hundreds of tapes. Sideswipe was trying to remember his brother. He still thought it was a mere head injury that was blocking parts of his memory not realizing there was nothing there to block.

“After he died, you…”

“Got angry. Dangerous,” Sideswipe finished for him in a clipped tone. “I remember. A little bit at least. Then I got hurt and forgot him.”

The spy went up to him, finally taking his optics from the security video. He had no doubt every tape in the room was there illegally and he, as an officer, was duty bound to report it. But he couldn’t find it in himself to give a slag where those tapes had come from or what was done with them. All he wanted was for Sideswipe to understand without damning First Aid.

“You went back to the way you used to be,” Mirage tried to make him understand. He had to understand. “You were happy. None of us wanted to see you like you were after Sunstreaker died.”

Sideswipe said nothing to any of this, just staring at the screen with a sad, longing gaze. “You have a lot of people worried out there, Sideswipe” Mirage said gently. “You can’t stay in here dwelling in the past. Come to duty.” He put a comforting hand on the hurting mech’s shoulder.

Flinching away from the touch, Sideswipe shut off the TV. The room was shrouded in total darkness now with only two pairs of optics visible. As he walked out the door, the melee warrior gave one last warning glare, his lazuli optics frightening in their intensity. “Never lie to me again, Mirage, or you’ll regret it.”

Then he was gone.

OoOoOo

“How does it feel?”

Cliffjumper gingerly tested his arms and then worked on stretching out his back without pulling apart any of the recent mends. “Fine,” he replied, not able to help the suspicious glance he sent the medic’s way.

The CMO wilted slightly under the mini-bot’s gaze, but did not let that affect his words or actions. “Can you walk?” he asked next.

The red bot stood up and walked a few steps from the small berth. His steps were still stiff and he moved as though they were not yet back to normal. “Hurts,” was his curt answer, a scowl on his face. “You said it would be fine.” Why couldn’t the medic fix a simple injury when he was obviously capable of screwing around with others’ insides?

“Here, get up on the berth again and let me see it,” the young CMO said, indicating toward the metal table. “I must have missed a rotor.”

Snorting, Cliffjumper did as instructed, though he didn’t look especially happy at doing it. “I coulda told you that,” he said in a huff. “So what were you doin’ when you should’ve been looking at my leg?”

“Cliffjumper,” First Aid rebuked gently. “All I did was miss a rotor. There is no reason to be rude.”

“Ratchet wouldn’t have missed it,” the mini-bot shot back before he thought of what he was saying. He regretted going that far, but would not take it back. Once said, something could not be undone. Besides, he was right. Ratchet would not have missed. He wouldn’t have to worry about Ratchet doing anything but his job.

“I’m not Ratchet,” the medic replied, optics darkening to a depressed darker shade of blue. “But I assure you that I am perfectly capable. He did train me after all. He and I are more alike than you think.” He remembered Bluestreak’s words from the day previous and felt his spirits raise a little. Yes, Ratchet had done exactly as he had done.

“I doubt it,” Cliffjumper shook his head and reluctantly let the medic do as he wanted on his still-injured leg. “You’re nothing like him.”

Later that day, after the Protectobot discharged his patient and had some free time, he thought about what the mini-bot had said. Cliffjumper’s dislike of him notwithstanding, he couldn’t help but wonder just what had been meant by that comment. It was even odd in the first place that the little warrior had so much disdain for the medic when he had very little affection at all to spare on Sideswipe.

It couldn’t be right, First Aid knew that what he had done and what Ratchet had done was the same. They both saved a life that was too precious to let go. Bluestreak would have gone insane and Sideswipe would have died. What other choice was there but to start over again?

Still, he could not shake it from his processor. He had to know exactly what had happened those millions of years back. Standing from his desk, the CMO walked to a cabinet on the far side of the office. Older files were kept here. Ones that covered the complete medical history of each and every Autobot on assignment on Earth. Once the stay in the Ark looked like it would be more long-term after the attack on Autobot City, he’d had the cabinet transferred over for reference.

His ivory fingers flipped expertly through the datapads until he reached the one he was looking for. Bluestreak.

A patient’s records were private things, Ratchet had told him in the first week of their time together in training. The only ones who ever had the right to see these records were the CMO, medics with express permission, and the patient themselves. Not even the Commander could order a patient’s files to be made available to them. And one should never view the records unless there was a dire need. Not even the CMO.

Technically, First Aid had no reason to be going through the gunner’s files like this as it did not involve Bluestreak. But he had to know.

Ratchet’s reports in his younger years were just as meticulous and thorough as they were later on, First Aid discovered. He left nothing out for the sake of medical honesty, even information that could very well have proved his downfall. Everything was there, from the medic’s first report on Bluestreak when he came in half dead to the very procedure he’d undergone to have his memories altered. Then, later on in the reports, he discussed how he returned each memory and how he and Prowl helped the young one deal with it.

As he read on, he found that while Ratchet put in every last detail of the procedure on Blue, it was done just as he’d instructed First Aid to write his. Without any emotion whatsoever on the medic’s part. All he did was explain his findings and what he did about them. Nothing on how he felt about it, or any possible consequences that might have come after. He needed to hear Ratchet’s voice on the matter. He had to know if what the mini-bot had said was true.

He had to know if Ratchet would have done the same thing.

Returning to his desk, the CMO typed up a few commands. When it asked for the command sequence, he paused. He knew the code; all he had to do was type it in and he would finally be able to hear what Ratchet felt about the matter. But wait…

With a sigh he shut off the computer, disgusted with himself. Just because he had the authorization to access his mentor’s personal log did not give him the right. It was there to guide him if he was in trouble, not for his own personal viewing pleasure. In his spark he knew what it would say, and reading it would only confirm what he already knew. Ratchet and he were different and their situations equally so. What had been done to Bluestreak was worlds away from what First Aid had done to Sideswipe. What was still being done to Sideswipe. 

His teacher would never have done what he had dared to do, and it was plainly obvious. Bluestreak was counseled and helped into coming to grips with his loss. Sideswipe was ripped from his loss with no permission nor warning. Bluestreak kept the scars from his past and lived with them now, the same lovable mech he always was. And Sideswipe? Well, Sideswipe had been robbed of something too dear to lose and was a different, lesser bot for it. He’d been robbed of something that the Protectobot, in his youthful desire to spare a life, took away without once thinking of what exactly it was.

And now, more than ever, he felt like the monster the others made him out to be.

OoOoOo

All day Sideswipe felt as though he couldn’t do anything right. He knew it was because there were other, more important things on his mind. For the first time in many many years, that he could remember, he was in complete disarray. He loved to be in control of a situation, thrived off it.

And all day he was just so very uncomfortable.

He didn’t know how to act around the others anymore. They’d all lied to him. To the only one who never lied. Even now, when he knew the great secret kept from him, they still knew more than he. They could remember a time when there had been not one, but two Lambos running around. They could remember Sideswipe having a brother who was violent and rude and more vain than Tracks.

He wanted someone to go to. To talk to even if there was nothing they could do. Mirage was on his blacklist for the moment. None of the others were current favorites either. Anyone he would have gone to in the past were dead. Ratchet always had sound advice and never failed to knock the sense back into him. Prowl would have tried to solve the problem. Even Prime, had he the time to spare, would have at least listened.

Who was left now but dishonest, self-righteous bots?

“No no Blue!” cried Jazz, rushing over to the young gunner before he could destroy the computer console he was currently putting the wrong access code into.

Jazz. Of course! Of all the bots on base, it was Jazz who could be counted on in a pinch. He never lied to anyone if he could help it, and Sideswipe couldn’t remember a time when the saboteur had openly lied to him about his head injury. Danced around the subject or a truth, sure, but never outright lied. He was always such a good friend, surely he would help!

The only thing that got him through his long shift was the promise of its conclusion where he might get a chance to talk. He desperately needed answers and Jazz was probably the only person who could give them. The young officer knew loss. He knew what it was to lose someone so close to him that it threatened to break him. Jazz would understand where everyone else fell short.

“Hey, Jazz,” he greeted the saboteur as they headed to the lounge for some energon. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” the black and white grinned easily. Handing a mug to the warrior, Jazz nodded with his head that they go somewhere else where they could talk without twenty other pairs of audios listening in. From his friend’s tone and serious face, he could tell it wasn’t something that should be overheard. When they reached the privacy of his office, the saboteur leaned against his desk while the warrior sat.

“So what’s on your mind, Sides?” Jazz asked, taking a gulp of energon. He rolled his shoulders slightly, aching from a long shift at a console. He’d have to take a drive later to work out the kinks.

Not knowing how to word it nicely, Sideswipe chose to go into it head-long. “I know everything.”

“’Bout what?” Jazz asked curiously, thinking the warrior was talking about a joke or something of that nature.

“Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe watched carefully for the other’s reaction, knowing that it would tell him just how much of a hand in this his friend played.

If he was hoping for some dramatic apology or spark-felt explanation, he was sadly mistaken.

The most reaction Jazz made to this revelation was a near gag on his energon. However he kept his cool and forced his face straight. He knew since the day this started that one day he’d be faced with this situation. How the secret had been kept this long he would never know. “Oh,” he answered quietly, unable to think of a more appropriate response. He couldn’t very well defend himself or the others. Nor could he offer false sympathy. As wrong as he knew it was, he also knew that Sideswipe had come back to life that day and he would never regret that part.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the warrior demanded, outraged by the complete lack of emotion from the normally vibrant officer. “You’re supposed to be my friend, Jazz. I never lied to any of you, but you lied to me about this. About the most important thing in my life. How could you?” Perhaps if he prodded for a reaction he might get the one he wanted.

“Sideswipe…” Jazz could see the younger mech’s temper flaring despite his greatest efforts. “It’s ok, man.” He stepped forward from his desk, palms up as though to pacify the warrior.

It was not ok! He’d wanted answers and thought that talking to Jazz calmly would get them. But as Sideswipe looked at him, he could see no remorse on the other’s face. Not even a hint that he totally despised the fabrication. Didn’t he have anyone on his side anymore? As the officer approached him, Sideswipe stood up quickly. “Whose idea was it, Jazz?” he spat backing away. “Was it yours?”

“Sides, man, y’ gotta calm down. Y’ were dyin’, somethin’ had t’ be done.” He didn’t like how twitchy the other was getting. Jazz knew that Sideswipe was capable of incredible mood swings with tempers and laughter seemingly coming out of nowhere at times. But this was extreme even for him. If he didn’t calm him down right now…

“So you let me forget my twin brother?” Optics narrowed into slivers of navy blue, Sideswipe’s shoulders hunched slightly. Jazz knew that look and immediately stopped. It was the look that most Decepticons saw only once. It was a look that most only ever saw from the yellow one rather than the red. “Whose idea was it? Why are you protecting them? Maybe it was you. Maybe you just wanted good ol’ Sides back, huh? Some cheap chuckles at the price of my brother?”

“That’s not it, man. Calm down an’ we’ll talk about this, mech t’ mech.” There was a slightly pleading lilt in his voice, but at this point he couldn’t care less. “You’re not thinkin’ clearly. It was for th’…”

“Don’t tell me it was for the best!” he screamed as though in agony, curling his fingers into twin fists. Both capable of punching a hole in a mech’s chassis if he felt the need even without the piledrivers in place. Never did Jazz think he’d have to worry about just how much damage those fists could do. But from the wild look in his friend’s face, he knew that the threat was very real and very likely. How did Sunny and the officers calm him down before?

Reaching out like a one might a panicked horse, the Porsche tried to reach his friend’s shoulder. Sunstreaker had always used physical contact to calm his twin down, and it had always worked. Jazz just had to reach him or he would do something he would greatly regret later. This was a terrible shock, and right now the warrior needed someone to talk to. He needed to understand. “C’mon, man, this is me. Jazz. Y’ can talk t’ me, so jus’ sit back down an’ we can…”

As swift and sudden as a gust of wind, Sidewipe grabbed the outstretched hand, using it to throw the officer against his own wall, keeping him pinned with the skill of one who had been a killer for eons. He knew many ways on how to keep a bot from hurting him, and this was just one. Fortunately, this one kept the victim alive and relatively unharmed. Had he wanted to, and he was tempted, there were other and much more effective ways of ensuring one’s protection.

Jazz refused to cry out at the sudden painful grip ebony fingers had on his arms nor at the intrusive body keeping him from moving an inch. Stupid, Jazz, stupid! Only Sunstreaker had been able to touch Sideswipe when he was in one of his furies. No one else could get close enough to even try.

“How can we talk,” hissed Sideswipe in a low undertone, his hands moving up to rest close to Jazz’s throat in warning, “if I can’t believe a damn thing you’re telling me?”

“Listen t’ what you’re sayin’!” the saboteur cried, ignoring the hints to shut his mouth. “This ain’t you, Sides! Sunny wouldn’ want y’ t’ go ‘round hurtin’ people who jus’ wanna help.”

“How would I know that? How would I know what ‘Sunny’ would or wouldn’t want? The only reason I know what he looks and sounds like is from fragging video tapes! Is there anything else I should know? What else did you let me forget?” He was desperate now, a wild look on his face. What was the saboteur keeping from him?

Jazz gripped Sideswipe’s wrists, trying to loosen the near stranglehold the warrior had on him. “No one meant t’ hurt y’, Siders,” he choked out. “Nothin’ else was changed. Jus’ Sunny. I promise, man, I wouldn’t lie t’ you about this!”

“Changed?” Sideswipe hissed in a low dangerous whisper that was nearly inaudible. “What the frag do you mean ‘changed’?”

He was so close to the saboteur’s face that he could see the shock cross over Jazz’s face before being carefully hidden. And now, for one of the first times ever, the black and white had no answer to give.

Not that Sideswipe was feeling very forgiving of that fact.

“Go on,” he ordered gruffly. “Answer me, Jazz! What did you mean by that?”

He didn’t know. Oh Primus, he didn’t know! Jazz may just as well have given Hot Spot his brother’s head on a plate. Sideswipe had told him he knew everything and like some slagging rookie he’d simply assumed that that meant everything. He should have known that as furious as the warrior was now, he wasn’t half as murderous as he would have been had he known that his brother was deliberately erased.

Shaking his head, the saboteur refused to answer. First Aid may have tried to meddle with death itself, but Jazz would not be the one to deliver death to him. The way Sideswipe was now, and the way he would become if he knew the truth, the black and white could not be sure that he would not attempt to take the medic’s life.

“Answer me!” Sideswipe cried, his grip on the other tightening enough to cause harsh dents in once spotless plating.

Jazz winced at the pain, and looked up into the young warrior’s deepening blue optics. “Let me go,” he requested slowly and quietly. He didn’t make the rank he did by being intimidated by others. He would not give First Aid to Sideswipe; it was as easy and as difficult as that.

“What if I don’t?” the red one asked. “What will you do?”

“Throw you in the brig later for assaulting an officer,” Jazz answered, cold and detached to match the other’s tone. His accent was gone, showing just how serious he was. “But till you let me go, I can’t do anything.”

“Tell me what I wanna know, Jazz,” Sideswipe pressed. “Then I’ll let you go and walk to the brig myself.”

“No.”

Sideswipe stared down at him for a moment, testing the other’s resolve. Even with the visor on, it was clear that Jazz was immovable. He’d faced much worse in the past than angry Lamborghini’s threatening him and remained silent. Whomever the saboteur was protecting would remain protected. And Sideswipe, as out of control as he was, had no taste for torture to get his answer.

“When I find out,” he breathed, drawing his face even closer. “And I will find out, Jazz, you can expect another visit from me.”

Dazed as he was still from being thrown so violently against the wall, the young officer wasn’t quite sure if he was hearing the red twin’s voice or the yellow’s. All he could do was nod, face a stone mask to hide any of the many emotions flying through his processor. It was more habit now than any actual control on Jazz’s part. If there was a threat, he automatically closed himself off to the outside. It had saved his life before and it would help him now.

When Sideswipe finally released his prisoner and fled the room, it was all Jazz could do to stay upright. Shaking his head lightly, he forced his spark to return to its laser core from where it had spent a good 10 cycles lodged in his throat. He rubbed his aching arms and chest as he gingerly picked up the mess the warrior had left.

Whatever had happened just then, one thing was certain.

They were in some serious trouble.

OoOoOo

Sideswipe didn’t remember the journey back to his own quarters. Over and over he played out the last half a megacycle through his processor, struggling to make sense of it. He’d thought he knew it all. That there could be no worse crime than letting one forget their twin. But this… this opened up so many new possibilities that he was so afraid to explore.

‘Nothing else was changed… Just Sunny…’

Just Sunny.

Something had been changed.

Sunny had been changed.

Sideswipe stumbled in the hallway, grasping his head with his left hand while the right reached for the wall to steady himself. It hurt! What was happening to him? Why was this happening to him? Why couldn’t he have some peace for just once in his life!

“Hey, Sides, you ok?”

He couldn’t be bothered with whoever was asking him that stupid question. Did he look ok to anyone? Because he certainly didn’t feel ok.

Something had been changed… but what? What was Jazz talking about?

Optics deactivated, he leaned on his arms against the wall, trying to reorient himself. It hurt so badly! He needed… he needed a medic. He needed First Aid.

But no, the others always avoided him like he was some horrifying creature. Those terrible rumors spreading around about him. How he’d reprogram you, experiment with your body. Take things, change things…

The chaos in his mind ebbed away like an ocean wave, leaving nothing but an eerie silence behind.

And in the remaining silence, a calm realization washed over him like cold water.


	4. Four

First Aid was a pacifist. He believed in peace with his whole being. Believed in it even when his patients were screaming for mercy or Primus or him or anyone at all to end their pain in any way possible. He believed in it when he was trying to do the impossible with shrapnel and missiles buzzing by his head close enough to leave marks. He believed in it so much, many had often remarked that he might very well die for it. Usually he just shrugged and went back to work. It was true, what they said. Medics did not last long enough in this war anyway without them being complete pacifists on top of it.

But somehow, he never really thought that one day he’d actually have to face that truth.

One moment he’d been alone, carrying supplies from around the room into their various drawers. When he returned to the main room, he suddenly discovered that someone had appeared in his absence.

Sideswipe stood there inside the room, the door behind him shut. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t say anything. Primus, he didn’t even have an expression upon his handsome face.

But there was something about the way he stood there, so still, that made First Aid’s spark thrum frantically in terror. It was like one of those scary movies that so many of the soldiers loved to watch. You could see the murderer standing right behind the victim, but you were unable to do anything but watch the deed be done. But now… now he was the victim and viewer all in one.

There was nowhere for him to run and there was nothing he could do except let the warrior do as he would.

What broke the spell was the usual hissing of the doors as they opened. Cliffjumper entered, grumbling unhappily, not even noticing what was going on. “First Aid! My slagging knee is still all messed up! Why can’t you…”

Then he finally saw the situation at hand.

“Scram, pipsqueak,” Sideswipe hissed in a tight unearthly voice. Like it wasn’t even coming from his vocalizer.

First Aid remained perfectly still.

Cliffjumper looked from one bot to another and then back again. He was no fan of Sideswipe and First Aid wasn’t much better. However, he knew what this was about and he knew why Sideswipe would be here, looking like he did. And not even the little Autobot would wish that upon the young Protectobot.

“Well?” Sideswipe barked in a clipped tone, staring at First Aid. He could see in the way the medic stared at him with expectant trepidation that he knew very well why the warrior was here. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Sideswipe?” First Aid asked quietly. “Would you honestly listen?”

The warrior’s optics were slits now, twin slivers of molten ice burning into the medic’s own calm sapphire. He looked as though he might say something, but at the last moment he remembered the mini-bot at the door. “I told you to scram!” he snarled, leaving no room for disobedience.

Cliffjumper scrammed.

Part of First Aid was hurt by his abandonment though he knew he shouldn’t have been so surprised. What loyalty did the mini-bot owe him, especially faced against someone like Sideswipe? The medic would probably have fled too.

The red warrior stared once more at First Aid like he had never stared at a single Decepticon. “I should kill you.”

He had every reason to. What had been done to him had been like committing murder in a way. Vaguely First Aid wondered if he would be like that if he ever lost his brothers like that. Some part of him didn’t think it was so far-fetched.

Yet somewhere between knowing he deserved the sentence and agreeing with him, First Aid came to the realization the he did not want to die. Yes he was wrong. Yes there was no way he could take it back as much as he would like to. But he did not want to die.

“Probably,” was the medic’s quiet answer.

Striding forward, Sideswipe pinned the smaller mech still with his hard gaze. Slamming his left piledriver into the wall just a foot from First Aid’s face, he leaned in close, ready to extract his answers.

OoOoOo

Cliffjumper raced through the halls, ignoring shouts of surprise or annoyance from those he weaved around. His knee didn’t hurt so badly anymore. Yes he disliked the medic. And he didn’t trust him any more than he trusted Grimlock with a laser scalpel.

But that didn’t mean he wanted him to die.

He didn’t really think of where he would end up. All he knew was that Sideswipe was angry enough to take a life, and that he had to be stopped. First Aid needed muscle to defend him and he needed support. He needed his brothers, so to his brothers Cliffjumper would go.

“Woah now, slow down, little red,” Groove smiled easily as the mini-bot skidded into Hot Spot’s quarters. Groove and Hot Spot were there, Blades off fetching them some energon. “What’s the rush, m’ mech?”

“It’s… it’s First Aid,” panted Cliffjumper, trying to catch his breath from the mad run through the base.

“What about First Aid?” Hot Spot asked, frowning. If the little warrior was coming to them, looking so shaken, it had to be a real concern.

“Sideswipe,” was all Cliffjumper managed to gasp out before the situation became clear to both of the assembled brothers. “Med-bay.”

There was a nanoclick where the two Protectobots were still and silent. Then, swiftly springing into action, Hot Spot stood, striding toward his door. “Groove,” he ordered. “Find Blades and Streetwise and come to the med-bay. Hurry.” Nodding, the young scout fled the room, calling his two wayward brothers on the comm. They had to move fast if they still wanted their fifth teammate fully intact by the end of the day. 

Hot Spot gave his thanks to the red mini-bot and fled as well, going straight toward the med-bay. First Aid might be a pacifist, but the Protectobot commander was not. And if Sideswipe touched a single servo on his brother’s chassis, Hot Spot would have quite a bit to say on the matter. Many of these words would be spoken with the business end of a rifle if it came to it.

OoOoOo

“I’m listening, ‘Aid,” Sideswipe growled low in his throat. “Tell me what I lost! What did you take from me?”

“If I told you that,” was the quiet reply, “you would have aimed that driver differently.” The medic’s words were calm, yet the very obvious fear behind his visor was enough to show that there was no mistaking the red mech’s intent. “Listen to me, Sideswipe, please. Just listen to what I have to say before you do anything.”

“Did you try listening to me before you took my brother away?”

“I tried. I tried for over a year to help you! But you were the one who wouldn’t listen. You were dying, Sideswipe! And there wasn’t anything I or anyone else could do about it. I’m a medic; my job is to save lives. And I saved yours.”

“Well fix it! You’re Primus’ gift to medicine, aren’t you? Ratchet’s little pet protégé? Bring him back!” Sideswipe’s right hand, not changed into a piledriver, shook the young ‘bot desperately. If the Protectobot could bring Sunstreaker back to him, even just the memory of him, he’d forgive it all. He’d never say another word against First Aid just as long as he could remember the feel of his brother and the sound of his voice.

Regretfully, the medic shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sideswipe. I can’t fix it. I erased that part of your memory rather than block it off. I was afraid it might return if I didn’t. And… once something’s wiped, it’s gone forever.”

First Aid was awed by the change that came over his would-be assailant. Sideswipe was defeated, finally. Every strip of him. Ever since losing his brother, there’d been the hope of death. The hope of being together. Then the yellow warrior had been forgotten, and there was once again the hope of life that both twins had shared when they were together. Now there was no hope. Not in death and not in life, because either way, Sideswipe was alone. As alone as a mech could be. There was no brother waiting for him, because there was no brother that existed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It was the only thing I could think of to save your life.”

“And what made you think I wanted my life to be saved?” Sideswipe hissed, spark broken completely. “Since when does getting your crosses mean you get to play Primus?”

First Aid shook his head vehemently. “No, Sideswipe, you don’t understand…” The protest was cut off as the warrior’s free hand pressed against his neck, keeping him against that wall.

“Maybe I don’t,” he growled. “And maybe I had a damn good reason if I wanted to die so bad.” The grip became near crushing. “But you must know a whole lot about death wishes, don’t you?”

That was it. The one small part of the young CMO that didn’t desire death took control. Shoving Sideswipe away, and half-surprised when it actually worked, First Aid leapt toward a rack of syringes, wielding one like a dagger. “Stay away from me!” he cried, holding it up as a warning. “You have to calm down, Sideswipe, you’re not yourself.”

The red mech hardly blinked at the younger mech, stepping forward despite the unspoken threat. First Aid would not stab him, and even if he did, it wouldn’t even slow him down let alone cause any damage.

“Not myself?” he snorted darkly, striding toward the frightened medic with sharp decisive steps. “And who’s fault is that?”

He wasn’t a foot away from the cowed CMO when the doors slid open and four ‘bots burst in, each with varying forms of defensive anger on their faces. The brothers didn’t even pause to take stock of the situation before going into action.

Sideswipe barely had time to prepare before finding himself pinned to the ground by the Protectobot Commander. A mere fraction of the red warrior’s age, Hot Spot did have two things he did not. Rank, and most importantly, mass. Not that either could take down Sideswipe in a fair fight, but he wasn’t thinking straight and neither was he prepared. The struggle lasted all of a minute.

“Did he fragging touch you?” Blades growled, optics on the red warrior, but words directed to his brother.

“N-no,” First Aid responded shakily. “No, I’m fine.”

“Let me go!” Sideswipe struggled against the larger mech holding him down. “Let me up, you giant tin can!”

Surprisingly, Hot Spot did as he was told, backing up so he was next to his brothers. The only sound in the room was the warrior’s angry panting as he rose to his feet, baleful optics glaring at the four barriers to his prey. “Move.”

Groove held up a calming hand, gentle face screwed in worry. “Calm down, man. You don’t know what…”

“I said move!” his sharp bark echoed off the walls, making it seem emptier than it was. As though they were the only ones in the base, in the world. Certainly they where the only ones that mattered.

“We can’t do that,” Hot Spot said in a low voice, trying to keep his anger in check. “Now stand down before someone gets hurt.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Were these four, these self-proclaimed protectors of those who had none, honestly defending this corrupt medic? “How can you stand up for that… that medic?” he snarled that word out, covering it with sarcasm and disdain and hate. “He deserves what’s coming to him, he took away my brother!”

“So to be fair, you’re gonna take away ours?” Groove asked softly.

“We won’t let you!” Blades growled, half-crouched. “We’ll deactivate you ourselves before we let you!”

Even Streetwise, who had been his young protégé in mischief since his creation, had his face set. Determined to protect his brother to the last.

A flash of a thought made its way through the red warrior’s unreasoning mind. He wondered, just briefly, if he and Sunstreaker were ever like that. Even just a little. Even just once.

And it was this thought, the one that made the strange parallel between his family and theirs, that forced his mind to calm. He couldn’t do this, no matter how badly he wanted it. Killing First Aid, even if it were still possible at this point, wouldn’t bring his brother back. Wouldn’t make him feel at all avenged or satisfied. It wouldn’t even bring the shadow of a memory.

With this knowledge, the proud warrior was defeated.

“I just want my brother back,” he said quietly, looking at the slumped medic who leaned back against the wall. His optics still shone with betrayal and hate, but most of all, they were filled with his plea. The unspoken promise to beg on bended knee if any hope remained.

First Aid hunched further, feeling as miserable as Sideswipe looked. “I’m sorry…”

And looking at the red and white, Sideswipe almost believed him.

OoOoOo

He watched the tapes again that night, memorizing everything about them. The way he and Sunstreaker looked at each other. How naturally the twin’s name flowed off his lip[s in the tapes.

He made sure to practice until the same flow was on them again.

Over and over he watched them, as if the act itself would do what the chief medic could not.

Sideswipe couldn’t remember the last time he’d had energon or recharge; surely not after he’d suspected something was wrong with him. Not that it mattered, really. The thought of energon made him feel nauseous. He also vaguely recalled missing his third shift in a row. But he didn’t care about any of that. Only the tapes mattered. Only his brother mattered.

Sometime between one and two in the morning, he began to drift. It was hard to tell if he was awake or asleep at times; the lines blurred. His brother would be on the screen. Then beside him. On the screen. At his desk. At the screen…

“Hmph,” a snort snapped him from the distorted reality. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were going insane.”

Sideswipe stared at the golden mech leaning so casually against the wall. He glanced around the room as if he owned it, handsome face curled into a familiar half-sneer.

“Sunny…” Primus, it sounded so much better when there was actually someone there to address it to.

“But I do know better,” Sunstreaker continued as though he didn’t even stop. “You went nuts a long time ago.”

“I must be,” the red twin whispered. “Because you’re not supposed to be here. You’re dead.”

Then the dead warrior turned and looked at him at last. The sneer fled to be replaced with a gaze of half exasperation and half fondness. “Then it’s a good thing you’re the crazy one, and not me.” He sighed, rich voice taking on an edge of sadness. “Still don’t remember me, do you?”

Sideswipe shook his head. “I just know you from the tapes. That’s the only thing left of you now…”

Again the yellow twin snorted, though this time it was gentler. “What are you talking about? I’m right here, aren’t I?”

“But… but you aren’t… weren’t. I mean…” How could he say the yellow twin was dead and gone when he was quite obviously right there? “But you… haven’t been here, Sunny,” he settled with instead.

Sunstreaker shook his head as though he were dealing with an exceptionally slow sparkling. “If you can’t remember me,” he said, “then how do you know I haven’t been here all along?”

And for that, he had no answer.

The dead mech, or was he alive after all, pushed away from the wall, stepping closer to the couch on which his brother laid. “Come here, you’re gonna slag up your joints if you sleep like that.” He held out a flawless golden hand out to help him up, a bemused smile on his face. The act was so fluid, so natural, that the red twin had no choice but to accept it. And as he stood to his feet, looking at Suntreaker, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d been in this position, and the other, so many times before.

The yellow mech’s smirk was so familiar. The feel of his hands. The way the light played off the sharp angles of his body. The ice of his optics as they stared over the battlefield, the deep lazuli as he laughed… and the dying indigo as he asked his brother for one last favor…

“Oh Sunny…” his voice was soft and hoarse, filled with his misery.

Those optics softened and he nodded, leading his twin to the one remaining berth.

“You had a long day, bro. Get some rest, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Obediently the red one lay down, but not before making sure his brother would not be leaving him. Curled up like they were sparklings again, the twins fell silent, needing only the other’s presence.

It was some time later that Sideswipe spoke again, his voice a mere whisper. “Sunny… am I dying? I can’t…”

The other smiled a little, a touch of sadness in his optics. “But you’re the crazy one, remember? I wouldn’t trust you if I were you.”

But the room was blurry, and the more he tried to focus or move, the worse it got. His systems weren’t responding properly; they were sluggish and faulty. The first major system started to fail and he felt a touch of fear. “But Sunny…”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” the yellow twin said softly. “I’m right here, bro. So unless you decide to go away…”

The red one was half insulted his brother thought he would leave him at a time like this. Even if he was able to, he wouldn’t. He’d never. “But I won’t,” he insisted.

The yellow warrior chuckled darkly. “So damn stupid,” he sighed affectionately, nestling his head against his brother’s. “You’re going to leave me and you don’t even slagging know it.”

Sideswipe rested his head on his brother’s shoulder, holding him tightly. “Moron,” he murmured with affection. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Our Revels Now Are Ended  
By: William Shakespeare

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,  
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and  
Are melted into air, into thin air;  
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,  
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,  
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,  
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,  
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,  
Leave not a tack behind. We are such stuff  
As dreams are made on, and our little life  
Is rounded with a sleep.


End file.
